


A Little Knowledge

by musigneus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-11
Updated: 2011-04-11
Packaged: 2017-10-17 22:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musigneus/pseuds/musigneus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus and Minerva have a weekly meeting. This week, they discuss the prophecy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Knowledge

**Author's Note:**

> Written before HBP and DH for the Severus and Minerva Mini-Fest on LiveJournal. Many thanks to tarnationawaits and cordelia_v, whose comments greatly strengthened the story.

Severus considered the plate of scones resting near Minerva's elbow as the other two Heads left her office, Flitwick’s voice a squeaky counterpoint to Sprout's enthusiasm for the expansion of greenhouse five. The door closed behind them, leaving Minerva's small sanctuary in comfortable quiet. He decided against another scone and poured himself a second cup of tea instead.

The two of them had begun this custom years ago, when he first became head of Slytherin. That year, the two of them had been forced to remain after each weekly meeting of the heads; as the two houses with the greatest inter-house rivalry, Gryffindor and Slytherin typically produced the most situations each year for their heads to resolve, and the Slytherins had pushed especially hard that year to test their limits with their new head. The memory of how they had learned not to push _him_ was still capable of bringing a thin-lipped smile to Severus's face.

Now the meetings were long habit and simply occurred regardless of whether there were inter-house conflicts to discuss. This past term, they had primarily provided a means for the two of them to vent their rage at the revolting toad the Ministry had foisted on the school. Or at least they _had_ , until the toad had sent Minerva to St. Mungo's...

Severus hid his scowl behind his teacup and turned his attention to what Minerva was saying about the staffing decisions.

"The fraud will be teaching again next term. Pity we had to reverse the only sensible decision that woman made," she said with a frown. Umbridge was always _that woman_ to Minerva, and Trelawney _the fraud_. Severus was less polite.

He snorted. Minerva's disdain for divination in general and Trelawney's pretensions in particular was familiar ground. "Albus could hardly turn her off even if he wanted to, unfortunately," he said.

"I suppose not," Minerva said reluctantly. "Although, if she truly has no memory of the prophecies she's made-"

"No _conscious_ memory," Severus corrected. "I don't think any of us care to chance what the Dark Lord might be able to pry out of her subconscious, given sufficient opportunity and...motivation."

Minerva conceded the point with a tilt of her head.

"Besides," he continued, "I think Albus is hoping she'll spout a third prophecy."

Minerva sniffed disapprovingly. "Two are quite enough, if you ask me.” Her expression softened. "That prophecy - I feel sorry for Potter..."

Severus didn't.

"... such a burden, at his age, to have to-"

"Minerva," he interrupted. "Albus has always thought it...prudent that I not know the complete prophecy, in case...of accident. And I agree.” Ignoring her stricken expression, he said firmly, "And if you know it - I don't want to know that either."

The crackling of the unnecessary but cheerful fire was the only sound in the room until Minerva spoke briskly into the silence, clearly steering the conversation in a direction she thought would be less painful.

"Well, at least Voldemort failed to learn the entire prophecy.” She flicked her wand, absently levitating another log into the grate. "I wonder - how did he find out about the prophecy in the first place? And how did he come to know only part of it?"

Severus went very still. _She didn't know_. "I thought Albus had told you," he said, setting his cup down on her desk with great care.

"No. I've wondered, but somehow I've never managed to ask him. But it sounds as if _you_ know," she said hopefully.

She didn't _know_.

"Yes."

Minerva looked at him expectantly, until he finally said, "A Death Eater overheard the first part of the prophecy, and he repeated it to the Dark Lord."

"Why not the entire prophecy, then? You'd think he would have paid attention to the whole thing, although I suppose we were fortunate that..." Her voice trailed off, and he could see the speculation in her gaze. She smiled slightly. "We were fortunate, weren’t we, Severus?"

All these years, she hadn't known. He thought Albus had told her. Now she had obviously put the pieces together, but she hadn't come up with quite the correct answer, because she was still looking at him with approval. Their frien- their _collegial relationship_ \- had been built on a false foundation, and it would surely collapse the instant she learned what had actually happened. After all, she had been fond of Lily Evans, and of James Potter.

Now she had clearly realized that _he_ had been the one to overhear the prophecy. Equally clearly, she thought he had heard only part of it on purpose - perhaps she even thought he had reported it to the Dark Lord on Albus's orders.

It would be to his advantage to remain silent. After all, the truth might never come out...but the warmth of the smile she turned on him seared his conscience. It was unbearable.

So in clipped, quiet sentences, he told her. How he had, with the Dark Lord's encouragement, applied for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post. How he had stayed at the Hog's Head because it was cheap, and how he had stayed an extra night, after his dismal, disappointing interview with Albus, because he had heard someone else would be interviewing. How he had followed that someone - who turned out to be Sybill Trelawney, interviewing not for the post he coveted but for Divination - when she went upstairs with Albus, and learned what they were discussing by the time-honored, simple expedient of listening at the door. How he had been turning away, anxious to get out of sight before Albus emerged after refusing her for the position, when he heard the timbre of her voice change.

 _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches.... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..._

He paused, remembering the fear - and, later, the surprising hope - he had felt at those strange words.

Minerva had said nothing. She was not yet looking at him with disgust, but then, they were not yet to the most damning part of his story. So he kept on speaking. He told her how he had been so foolishly fixated on Trelawney's words that he had paid too little attention to the drunkard wavering along the corridor until the sot said, too loudly, "What's this, then? I want to listen too!” How he hadn't even had a chance to flee before the door burst open and Albus _looked_ at him, fierce and powerful, and cast a hex that flung him down the corridor to land stunned at the feet of the surly barman, who proceeded to drag him downstairs and throw him out into the street. How he had pulled himself to his feet, and looked up at the lighted window to see Albus watching him. How Albus had simply regarded him steadily, then turned away without summoning the Aurors who were patrolling the street, even though he could tell that Albus _knew_.

His voice faltered. He could stop here...

He had never before understood the urge some people felt to unburden themselves when faced with a listening silence, although he'd used it to his advantage on more than one occasion - but he understood it now. He felt it - the urge to say everything, to just have it over with at once, and know the worst. So he plunged ahead, and told her how he had automatically returned to the Dark Lord's side, shaken, to tell him everything and be praised and punished, privately wondering the entire time why Albus had let him go. How he had thought, afterward, about what he had heard - there would be someone who could defeat the Dark Lord. It was terrifying. It was _possible_. There was a way out...

The rest was easier to tell her. How, a few days later, when Albus received a message saying only, "He has accessed records at St. Mungo’s," Albus knew who had sent it and had arranged protection for Alice Longbottom and Lily Potter, because he had also been inquiring as to who was expecting a baby in July. How, when Severus applied for the Defense position again the next year, Albus had once again turned him down - but offered him Potions instead. How he had kept sending information until the end - or rather, what he had hoped would be the end. How he preferred to believe he would have done that even had he known the prophecy referred to a _Potter_.

He sat stiffly, shoulders hunched, waiting for condemnation. She had cared for the Potters - and he had carried the prophecy that killed them straight to the Dark Lord. So, he had warned they were in danger, but if not for him, they would never have been targeted in the first place. Potter would have grown up in a Wizarding household instead of with some wretched Muggle family, and would almost certainly be better prepared to fight the Dark Lord.

 _He_ was the one who had jeopardized their best hope.

And now she knew.

He forced himself to straighten, to raise his chin proudly, to show her he didn't need her approval or respect. They meant nothing to him.

But he still couldn't look at her.

At last, he forced "You know what kind of man I am" through his frozen lips into the silence. He looked fixedly past her ear at the wall.

Minerva studied him over the rim of her glasses for a long minute before said deliberately, "Yes, Severus, I do indeed know what kind of man you are."

She pushed the plate of scones closer to him, and his eyes, widening with disbelief, snapped to her face.

Brandishing a piece of parchment, she said, "Now - about this Quidditch schedule..."

Unsettled, but oddly heartened, Severus selected a scone and prepared to defend Slytherin’s claim to the pitch at the prime practice times.


End file.
